SSS-Rank Evolving Monster: From Pest to Cosmic Devourer
Chapter 71: What gall

Chapter 71: What gall

"Can I leave now..." Ricky’s voice echoed in the dim chamber—calm, composed, and utterly unfazed. The air around him shimmered faintly with residual energy, as if the trial itself still trembled in disbelief at what had just occurred. His wings flicked once behind him, casting fractured shadows across the crystalline floor.

The Guardian spirit didn’t answer.

She stood frozen in place, eyes wide, as though time had momentarily forgotten her. The disbelief etched on her face contrasted sharply with the cold poise she’d maintained until now. Only when Ricky repeated the question—his voice carrying the weight of certainty rather than arrogance—did she slowly, mechanically nod.

"Y-Yes, master..." Her words barely left her lips, brittle and distant, like the faint crack of thin ice under pressure.

Ricky’s antennae twitched slightly. Master?

The shift in her tone didn’t escape him. From calling him a pest with utter disdain... to master? It was a title drenched in submission, and the abruptness of it stirred something curious within him. In a minute, he’d already guessed the reason behind her change in demeanor—anyone paying attention could figure it out—it still didn’t sit right to leave it unspoken.

"What did you call me just now... and why?"

His voice rang sharper this time, laced with cold curiosity. There was no mockery in it—just the edge of someone who refused to accept reverence without a reason. The words bounced in the Guardian spirit’s mind, their weight undeniable.

Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and dropped into a deep ninety-degree bow. Her body folded flawlessly, her silvery hair cascading over her shoulders as her robes parted just slightly, revealing the delicate line of her snow-pale cleavage under the pressure of gravity.

Ricky didn’t flinch. His gaze never faltered nor dipped. There was no room in his mind for distractions—only answers.

The gigantic hall grew still again, as if the very essence of the inheritance ground was watching in stunned silence.

Far behind them, the other participants, once focused on their trials or resting in quiet contemplation, now stirred. A pulse of rising tension surged through the crowd. Most were powerful—towering Stage 3 warriors forged through blood and battle. But even they couldn’t ignore the obvious.

Their instincts screamed that something had shifted.

Their attention locked onto Ricky.

Hostility simmered beneath the surface. Though they hadn’t seen the exact process of what happened, they could sense the flow of spiritual energy that had poured into him, feel the inheritance ground itself respond as if recognizing a chosen successor.

They may not have known the specifics, but their instincts—honed by years of brutal survival—told them that the mosquito had just snatched something vital from right beneath their noses.

And they did not like it.

Some clenched their fists. Others narrowed their eyes, subtle ripples of spiritual pressure leaking from their bodies as they began to move, their steps slow but deliberate, carried by the weight of outrage.

The pest was now their obstacle. Their threat.

Their enemy.

But Ricky stood there, unshaken, his presence centered like the eye of a storm. He didn’t need to raise his voice or brandish a weapon. He had already proven something far greater.

And that fact alone was what made them all so furious.

Moreover, many of them had witnessed the surreal exchange between Ricky and the Guardian spirit—the deep bow, the change in tone, the impossible shift from pest to master. It wasn’t just suspicious; it was blasphemous in their eyes.

The tension snapped.

"You fucking pest, what did you—!"

"Stop right there, you mindless animal!"

Angry voices pierced the charged air, venomous and loud. The ones who’d already been brimming with restrained fury could no longer hold back. Their killing intent burst forth like ruptured dam walls, tainting the very atmosphere with dread.

Even the enigmatic sixteenth participant finally showed herself—cloaked in strange, ripple-warped fabrics that hinted at her lineage from the voidborns—began to move.

And with him, so did the others.

A ripple in reality itself seemed to follow their footsteps as half a dozen Stage 3 cultivators surged toward Ricky. Their collective spiritual pressure condensed like an unseen tsunami, crashing down with raw force. The chamber groaned. Air warped. The very world twisted under the pressure of their fury.

A violent current of wind howled through the inheritance ground, spiraling outward as spiritual energy rampaged freely. And yet, despite the magnitude of their might—despite the hurricane of battle-ready intent sweeping toward him—the ground remained eerily untouched. No cracks. No destruction. The place was old, sacred, and not so easily scarred.

Noctyss was the first to react. Her crimson eyes widened with horror as she realized what was about to happen.

"Are you out of your mind?!" she screamed, her voice cutting through the roar of turbulent power.

This is bad... The thought surged in her heart like a blade through silk.

If they attacked Ricky now—if he died—then she would die too. Their fates had already been interwoven long before. His success was her survival.

Without hesitation, she pushed her body into motion.

A blur of dark light, she darted forward, cutting through the howling wind and spiritual pressure until she stood between Ricky and the incoming wave. Her arms flared outward as if to hold back the heavens themselves. Her stance was firm, defiant—but compared to the overwhelming storm approaching, it was like a dying ember daring to halt a wildfire.

Like an ant trying to stop an elephant’s charge.

And yet, she stood.

The spiritual pressure buffeted her like a tidal wave crashing against a lone cliff, her long black hair whipping around her face as sparks of mana danced across her skin. Her teeth clenched, her legs locked, every muscle trembling—not with fear, but resolve.

Behind her, Ricky remained motionless.

The eye of the storm.

Silent. Watching. Waiting.

Although it seemed as though Ricky would be obliterated beneath the advancing wave of spiritual fury, internally, he remained utterly calm.

In fact, the more violently the other participants acted, the more confident he became in his deduction.

The Guardian spirit had explicitly warned them not to attack fellow challengers. That rule hadn’t changed. And yet here they were—willfully ignoring the decree, or worse, pretending it no longer applied.

It confirmed everything.

Still, he could feel it—the overwhelming aura of destruction locking onto him. A sharp, soul-piercing pressure settled over his body like a net of spears. And yet, his compound eyes gleamed coldly, unmoved.

His wings quivered slightly, but it wasn’t out of fear.

"Let’s see how good my new skill really is..."

A slow, inward grin tugged at the edge of Ricky’s thoughts. The time had come to test the fruits of his evolution.

Without hesitation, he activated two of his most trusted skills—Superior Iron Frame and Superior Blood Infusion.

In the span of a breath, his body transformed.

A deep metallic sheen began spreading outward from his core, turning his insectoid frame into hardened armor. His six legs thickened, joints crackling with unnatural force. Under the throbbing surge of Blood Infusion, his entire body expanded—tripling in size—until he resembled a nightmarish war-beast. Wisps of dark mana unfurled from his limbs like smoke from an ancient furnace, staining the air around him.

"Come on then..."

"Let me experience the strength of Stage 3..."

Ricky roared with challenge, but to the others, it sounded like a distorted, guttural screech—a monstrous echo that reverberated across the field.

Though his form was menacing, grotesque even, the Stage 3 cultivators were not impressed.

They had fought things far more terrifying.

Kael Dorn—arrogant and graceful—merely snorted with amusement. His long black hair danced around his shoulders as he stepped forward, a mocking grin on his flawless face.

"Let me see if the Venom Fang Overlord is as ferocious as the rumors say."

Then, with a step so light it made no sound, Kael vanished.

Ricky’s eyes twitched.

"Where did he go—?!"

His gaze darted around, but Kael’s movement had transcended his perception.

Then, the air near him hissed—vibrated.

A presence.

Kael Dorn materialized just inches from him, one arm raised high, condensed spiritual power crackling around his fist like a coiled storm.

"Die," Kael whispered, his voice brimming with disdain.

But then—

A voice, chilling and absolute, sliced through the tension like a blade dipped in glacial waters.

"What gall."

"Daring to attack the Master right in front of my eyes..."

"Don’t you want to live anymore...?"

The Guardian spirit’s voice wasn’t loud, but it echoed with ancient weight, like the judgement of the heavens themselves.

Kael Dorn froze. Literally.

His punch halted mid-air, his body locked in place. Time seemed to reject him.

"What...?"

"Why can’t I move?!" Kael’s thoughts spiraled into panic. Despite all his might, his limbs wouldn’t budge—paralyzed, disconnected from his will. His heart pounded wildly as dread overtook arrogance.

And then he felt it.

An unseen, overwhelming force surged toward him like an avalanche of divine judgment.

"No! I have to move!" Kael screamed in his mind, his eyes widening to the brink of tearing, veins bulging grotesquely across his temples.

But it was already too late.

BOOOOOM!

A devastating shockwave exploded outward as the force slammed into Kael’s body.

He flew.

Whoooooosh!

His figure became a blur, hurtling through the air like a missile, the wind howling violently in his wake. The other participants froze, eyes wide, the echo of Kael’s passage screaming past their ears.

Only now did they react.

They stopped—every single one of them. Movements ceased. Killing intent vanished. The overwhelming confidence in their hearts turned to cold caution.

Kael’s body finally crashed after being flung hundreds of meters, dragging along the sacred floor. Blood poured freely beneath him, forming a spreading crimson pool. Whether he was alive or dead, no one could say.

And then came the final warning.

"No one who dares to show even a tiny amount of hostility toward Master will be spared."

The Guardian spirit’s voice rang like a tolling bell, each word heavy with power.

A shiver ran down every participant’s spine.

None dared to speak.

None dared to move.

And at the center of it all stood the Ricky, the Venom Fang Mosquito—unshaken, unreadable.